'I am so sorry,' said Mina, waking up and brightening. 'Of course I will tell you anything.'
(H. M. was really worried: Sanders knew that. He had flung the words at her as though they were a rope to draw her back. For a moment H. M. breathed asthmatically, without speaking.)
'Right, then. Now!' He looked round the room. 'I say, your husband didn't share' this room with you, did he?'
'No, no. He complained that I talked in my sleep. His room is in there. Would you like to see it?'
She got up without interest, and led them through the bathroom into Sam Constable's bedroom, where she switched on the light. The room was little different from any other bedroom in the house, and with little more personality than the guest-rooms. It was high, square, and bluff. Its furnishings - bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers, table, a few chairs - were of dark walnut against bilious-looking greenish-papered walls picked out with panels in gilt. A number of heavy-framed pictures did not add to its attractiveness.
H. M. peered round it. Then he began to lumber and brush round its edges. A gun-case stood in one corner; the top of the wardrobe was piled with hat-boxes, and on the table lay an assortment of Tatlers and sporting magazines. Little more traces remained of its late occupant. One of the windows opened out on another cramped cup of a balcony, with stone stairs winding down to the ground. H. M. inspected this before he turned round to Mina in the doorway of the bathroom.
All this time Mina's yellowish-tinged eyes were watching him.
'Uh-huh. What room is on the floor under this, ma'am?' 'Under us? The dining-room.'
'I see. Now, let's go back to Friday night. You and your husband came up here at seven-thirty, hey? What'd he do then?'
'He had his bath and started to dress.' 'Where were you at that time?' 'Inhere.' ‘In here?'
'Yes. Parker (that's his man, you see) was in hospital, so I had to lay out his dinner things and put the studs and cufflinks in his shirt. It took rather a time. My hands -' She stopped.
'Go on, ma'am.'
'He was about half-dressed, and I was tying his shoes for him-'
'So ? Couldn't he tie his own shoes ?'
'He had vertigo, poor old boy. He couldn't bear to lean over like that.' She looked at the wardrobe and shut her jaws hard; it was evidently her worst moment so far. 'I was just doing that when we heard that terrible crash. I said, "That's in the next room." He said, "No, it isn't; that's my great-grandmother's lamp, and it's in that young fool doctor's room." (Dr Sanders isn't really, but Sam had hoped he would come down here and expose Pennik, and he was disappointed. I know how he felt now. But you needn't worry, Sam. It'll be taken care of.)'
For a moment, looking at her, Sanders had a feeling that was not far removed from eerie.
'He said he was going to see what's what. He put on his dressing-gown and went out. In a minute or so he was back again. He said that Hilary Keen and Dr Sanders were -' Then she seemed to wake up. 'I beg your pardon, Doctor! I didn't notice. There Was nothing to it, anyhow. Well, anyway, when I had got him into his shirt he told me to go on, go on, get myself dressed; or I should be late. He would tie his own tie, because my hands weren't good for that.' She smiled sadly. 'I went to my room. In a few minutes I heard him brushing his coat. Then he said he was going downstairs. I said, "All right, dear." When I heard the door close I remembered about the two clean handkerchiefs. You must know what happened then. I've told it, told it, told it, over and over and over. Must I tell it again ?' ‘No,’ said H. M.
He stood broad and straddle-legged in the middle of the room, his fists on his hips. He had listened quietly, but there was a faintly sinister expression round the corners of his down-turned mouth, and it seemed even to shine from his bald head. He sniffed.
'Humph,' said H-M. 'I say, son.' He turned to Sanders. 'I don't like to bend over either, which is 'cause I'm fat.' He pointed. 'Down there on the floor, by the castor at the foot of the bed. And over near where Mrs Constable is standin'. Scrooch down and get a good look and tell me what it is.' 'It looks,' answered Sanders, examining the carpet, 'like spots of wax.'
'Wax!' said H. M., scratching the side of his nose. 'So?'
Again he looked round. On the chest of drawers, at opposite ends, stood two china candlesticks each containing a (purely ornamental) greenish candle. H. M. lumbered over to them. He put his hand on the top of each.
'Cold,' he said. 'All the same, somebody has been burnin' these candles. Both of'em. Look at the tops. Have you been burnin' 'em, Mrs Constable?'
'Good heavens, no!'
'Haven't been having any trouble with the lights, or anything?' 'No, certainly not.'
'But somebody's been burnin' 'em,' persisted H. M. 'Wouldn't you know ?'
'I'm afraid not. I haven't noticed anything, much.' She pressed her hands over her face. 'But does it tell you anything? Why does it matter?'
'Because it's rummy,' said H. M. 'It's the only rumm? or out-of-place thing in a smooth, ordered room and a smooth, ordered bit of dirty work. Somebody walks about with a pair of lighted candles in a place where there're already enough lights to equip Piccadilly Circus. And just outside this door a bloke throws a fit with nobody near him, and dies. Oh, my eye! And besides -'
Mina Constable showed a pale face of resolution.
'Have you finished, Sir Henry?'
'I'm afraid so. For now, anyhow.'
'I haven't finished,' said Mina, smiling her nervous and sympathetic smile. 'On the contrary, I am going to begin. I will show you. Will you come downstairs with me, please?'
Sanders had no idea what was on her mind. Neither, evidently, had H. M. In silence they went out and downstairs. Mina walked straight to the drawing-room, whose double doors were now wide open. Under a snaky-glowing chandelier Masters sat with his notebook on his knee, writing laboriously. Lawrence Chase watched him. Both looked up in surprise when Mina stalked in, but she paid no attention to them. On a table near the bay-windows was a telephone.
Taking it off the rest, she put it down on the table. Then, steadying her right wrist with the grip of her left hand, she began to spin the dial. There was a certain expression about her face.
'T-O-L,' spelled Mina with concentration. She picked up die phone again.
Masters jumped up from his chair.
'Excuse me,' he said. 'You're Mrs Constable, aren't you? Just so! Would you mind telling me what you're doing?'
'What's that?' inquired Mina, turning a bright and pleasant but determined face over her shoulder. She looked back again. 'Toll? I want to put through a call to London, please. This is Grovetop three-one. I want Central nine-eight-seven-six. Yes, please ... What did you say?'
Masters was beside her with remarkable strides.
'I asked what you were doing, Mrs Constable.'
'I'm ringing the Daily Non-Stop. I know the literary editor; I did some articles for them once. I don't know anybody else on the staff, but he can tell me whom I should speak to.
Excuse me ... Hello? Daily Non-Stop? May I speak to Mr Burton, please?'
'Half a tick,' said Masters grimly. He put down a large finger on the hook and cut off the connexion with a click. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Constable.'
Mina looked up.
'Do you mean to say,' she asked, 'that I can't put through a telephone call from my own house?'
'Of course you can, Mrs Constable. Of co-ourse,' beamed Masters, with windy heartiness and deprecation. 'Only -well, you know, wouldn't you rather see us, first? Eh? We're old hands at this. Maybe we could advise you. What did you want to tell them?'
Mina did not flare out at him. She looked wizened and not altogether attractive under that harsh light; her manner was detached, but she kept tight hold of the receiver and pressed it against her breast.
'You must be Chief Inspector Masters,' she said. 'Tell me. What is the worst insult you know ?'
'All! Hard to say, that,' said Masters wisely. 'If you're, thinking of applying it to me -'
'I was thinking of applying it to Herman Pennik.' She looked thoughtful. 'My husband always used to make him jump, on a certain subject. I wonder why ? But we can begin with Fake, capital F, and plain bounder.'
'If you'd just let me have that phone, Mrs Constable? ... A-ah! Thank you. There we are! Eh?
Mina let go. She looked round. There was perhaps nobody in that room who did not feel his heart contract with pity at the expression on her face.
'I've been through hell,' she said. 'For God's sake give me my little chance to hit back.'
Then her eyes overflowed.
The phone clinked and jingled as Masters fitted back the receiver in a vast silence. Through the tall open window in the bay, cool air stirred and drifted. ‘
'I know, ma'am, I know,' said Masters with hearty sympathy. 'But that's no way to do it, is it? I mean, you can't just ring up a newspaper and call a man names; now can you?'
'I don't propose to do that.' 'No?'
'No. So,' she went on in a very quiet voice, 'Mr Herman Pennik claims he can use thought as a weapon, does he? Silly little liar. You see, my husband was a fairly wealthy man. And I'm going to do what Sam would have wanted me to do. Sam, who was never afraid of anything or anybody in his life. All right: let the toad Pennik try out his weapon on me. I challenge him. That's what I wanted to tell Mr Burton. I'll call his bluff. Just let him try to kill me. If he can do it, everything I've got goes to any charity you want to name. But it won't. I'm simply calling his bluff and doing something for poor old Sam. And I warn you, I'll spread it over every newspaper in England, if it's the last thing I ever do in my life.'
Lawrence Chase took two steps forward.
'Mina,' he muttered, 'be careful what you're saying. I tell you, be careful!'
'Oh, rubbish.'
'I tell you, you don't know what you're saying.'
'And neither do you, sir, I'm afraid,' said Masters over his shoulder. 'Ladies and gentlemen!' He cleared his throat and brought his fist down on the telephone table. 'If you please! Steady, now. This is a lot of hysterics; now isn't it?'
In some fashion he managed a smile.
'Just so! And that's better, isn't it? Now, Mrs Constable,' he went on in soothing tones, 'why don't you just come over here and sit down nice and comfortable, eh? And we'll talk this whole thing out. Miss Keen is out there getting you some dinner,' - he nodded towards the closed doors to the dining-room, from behind which they could hear the homely rattle of crockery - 'and while she's getting it suppose we sit down and be sensible?'
'If you like,' agreed Mina cheerfully. 'I only say what I say. You can't keep me away from that telephone for ever, you know.'
Masters managed the parody of a wink.
'And I'll tell you another thing,' he confided. 'If you're worrying about this Mr Pennik: don't. You don't need to tell everybody he's a fake. We know it.'
Mina whirled round.
'Do you really mean that?'
'Lord love you, what do you think coppers are for ?' asked Masters. 'We know it right enough. In fact, we've just been proving it.'
Outside, in the sanded path beyond the open window, there was the stir of a footstep.
Sanders - who was nearest the window - heard it but did not look round. He heard it within a layer of his consciousness, only to be remembered afterwards. For he was too intent on the faces in the bright, ornate room, where the polished oak floor made their own footfalls drown out noises beyond the light.
'It's gone bust, Mrs Constable,' the chief inspector assured her. 'I'd offer you a little discount on miracles right now. Because why? Because we've just learned, from things Mr Chase has told us allied to what Miss Keen has told us, that on at least a couple of occasions our friend Mr Ruddy Pennik was pretending to read minds when he was only passing on information received.'
'I beg your pardon,' interrupted Chase with hot dignity. 'I'm not going to have my words twisted. I didn't say that. You chose to say it.'
'Choose your own terms, sir. I don't mind.'
'If I could believe that,' cried Mina. 'You mean that even his thought-reading was a fake?'
'It was, Mrs Constable,' agreed Masters comfortably. He glanced across at H. M., who throughout all this had said not a word. 'You should have been here, sir. Lummy, it was a treat!' Then Masters's face darkened. 'He gave me a real turn to-day, and I'm not denying it. Talking about my kid! Urr! I'll give him what I think about my kid, and her that's got to have an operation to-morrow! I'd still like to know where he got that little bit. But if you're worrying about
publicity, I'll give 'em a press-bulletin that'll make a proper fool of that gentleman. As for your challenges' - he gave her an odd, dry look whose meaning was not quite clear - 'make 'em or not, but it's waste effort. He won't kill anybody with his ruddy Teleforce, that gentleman won't. He couldn't kill an ant with a fly-swatter. And I'll hand in my resignation to-morrow if he can.' 'Listen!' said Chase abruptly.
The sharp bark of the word made them all fall silent, so that even the emphatic jingle of keys in a pocket, or Masters's still more emphatic snort, died thinly away. This time they all heard the faint rustle in the sanded path outside.
Chase hurried to the window. Sanders, who was nearest it, stared out. Stars had come out in a clear, luminous night; a night when the trees were windless and the air had a clear visibility unrelated to light. Though the path outside was empty, someone was moving away from them, moving slowly in and out under the shadows of the trees.
'That was Pennik,' said Chase, clearly and thinly. 'What do you suppose he's thinking about now?'
CHAPTER XI
'Your breakfast-things,' said Hilary, pulling on one glove, 'are out in a line in the pantry. You can't miss them. The new bread is in the bin on the right; not the left; that's stale. Now, are you sure you can manage? And take care of Mina too?'
'Believe it or not,' Sanders told her, 'I have sometimes in the past had occasion to get my own breakfast. Lord alive, woman! It is not a soul-scarifying experience, which must be approached after a night of meditation and prayer. You just shove a couple of eggs and some rashers into a greased frying-pan; and by the time you have burned your second lot of toast it's done. - As for Mina, she is sound asleep with a quarter-grain of morphia inside her, and won't stir until nine o'clock to-morrow morning. What ails you?'
Something was wrong. And he was speaking in this fashion because he believed he felt the same influence. They waited in the dining-room, under huge dropsical pictures which (if the dark coating could have been cleared off them) might have been pictures of gargantuan hams and vegetables. Sanders's watch said that it was twenty minutes past nine.
Hilary smoothed out the glove. Her bag was packed and waiting. Through open doors to the front of the house they could hear, faintly, a police-car throbbing in the drive.
